


Home

by hermionesmydawg



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Compliant, Gen, Multi, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Pre-Avengers (2012), Somewhat, Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Subtle Aromantic Natasha Romanov, Time Skips, subtle polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-18
Updated: 2016-11-18
Packaged: 2018-08-31 16:01:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8584819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hermionesmydawg/pseuds/hermionesmydawg
Summary: "I would've killed you, you know.""You should've killed me a few times," Clint jokes. It's not so funny with blood covering his face. Natalia - no, Natasha now - fires off four shots and ducks back down. "You know damn well which time I'm talking about. Don't you die on me without admitting you spared me because you wanted to hit this."Clint laughs. He cringes. "It's been two years, Nat. How many times do I have to tell you? If I aim for something, I don't miss."***Natasha, somewhat unexpectedly, finds a sort of family.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I've never written Clint/Natasha before, but I got a prompt for them + family, and somehow this happened.

This motel is shit. Her food is shit. The company is shit.  
  
She's alive. All in all, not a terrible day.  
  
"What's your deal?" She finally asks, speaking for the first time in...hmm, a day? Maybe two. Being kidnapped is also shit, but still better than this food.  
  
Her kidnapper/would-be-murderer furrows his brow. Oh yeah, she spoke without an accent. He's probably disappointed. She notes his strengths and weaknesses often. His head tilt at her question is the first time she notices that his ear comms are more enhanced than usual. Aids. "You wanna be more specific?" He grunts. "I got a lot of deals."  
  
Ugh. "Specifically, I know you were sent to kill me. Do you always kidnap your victims first? Is that your code name, The Kidnapper?"  
  
"Code names are for superheroes, they're stupid."  
  
"You're stupid," she spits back. Honestly, she doesn't even know where that came from. So immature. So _fun_.  
  
He shrugs. "I saw something in you."  
  
There it is. "You saw a hot piece of ass," she accuses, then slips into a thick Russian accent. "You wish to fuck me before you kill me."  
  
"I've seen hotter." He eyes a piece of limp chicken with disinterest. It falls from the plastic fork into his styrofoam contained with a pathetic thud. "You can never trust take-out unless it's pizza. Ya know? This food is shit."  
  
She stares at him in confusion. "Who the hell are you?"  
  
"Oh, sorry." He smiles. It looks fake. "Clint Barton."  
  
She has many names, too many identities, and that's exactly how she likes it. She could say any of them and they'd be nearly true, but for some unknown reason she decides to share the oldest truth with this idiot. She nods, pursing her lips. "Natalia."  
  
***  
  
"I would've killed you, you know."  
  
She has to keep him talking, focused. This idiot, this _fucking idiot_ , is bleeding out over the floor of some building they're in. They don't know what it is and they don't care. As of right now they're still taking and returning fire and their backup STRIKE team is still way too far out. Goddamn Budapest, good things never happen here.  
  
"You should've killed me a few times," Clint jokes. It's not so funny with blood covering his face.  
  
Natalia - no, _Natasha_ now - fires off four shots and ducks back down. "You know damn well which time I'm talking about. Don't you die on me without admitting you spared me because you wanted to hit this."  
  
Clint laughs. He cringes. "It's been two years, Nat. How many times do I have to tell you? If I aim for something, I don't miss."  
  
He's told her that way too many times. To the point of just being obnoxious. He's like fucking Legolas against the Orcs and it's ridiculous.  
  
"Is that how you got the name?" He asks. "Black Widow. You fuck them, you kill them?"  
  
"Only the men," Natasha answers with a sly smirk.  
  
Clint mutters, "Shit. Forget the bullet, that image might kill me."  
  
The gunfire slows, the street noise, the wind, his breathing. Everything slows. They're stuck and he's dying and she cares. It _hurts_.  
  
"Don't die on me, asshole," she threatens.  
  
"Nah," he slurs. "I'm gonna die an old man, with my wife and kids yelling at me to hurry up, I'm stinking up the place."  
  
"You do stink." Natasha laughs. It's wet and she coughs to cover it up. "Tell me about this family that probably has more sense than you do."  
  
At that his smile falters, his face cold and sallow. "My wife. She used to work for SHIELD. She'll kill me if I die."  
  
Natasha slumps against the wall, stunned. The STRIKE team is close, she can hear them, stealthily eliminating any remaining threats. She and Clint won't die, maybe. It still feels, right then, like she took the same bullet to the gut that he did.  
  
***  
  
With the cat out of the bag and Clint alive and well, their friendship changes. Near death experiences and shared secrets can do that, she supposes.  
  
Natasha meets Laura, and Cooper, and Lucky (the dog). The Bartons have a house, and land, in the middle of fucking nowhere, and she loves it there. She shouldn't, but they welcome her, so she keeps coming back.  
  
Laura is her friend now, and it works because she's a secret. Natasha is the queen of secrets.  
  
She's there when Laura delivers Lily in the bathtub, arguing with the midwife the whole time.  
  
She's there when Lucky passes, and when Clint brings home another Golden Retriever named Lucky and Cooper calls him out on it. Kids are smart.  
  
Before she realizes it, it's Christmas Eve and she's holding Lily by the tree, as enraptured by the shimmering lights as the infant in her lap. Clint's gone on an assignment, and Natasha's presence doesn't replace his, but it helps.  
  
"You're so good," Laura says, kneeling on the floor beside them. The lights reflect off her dark hair and eyes. She's glowing more than usual. "With the kids, I mean."  
  
Nat forces a smile, because Laura knows about...things. "Something about the finality of knowing I'll never have one makes me appreciate yours more, I guess. Never thought I would have the chance to be around them. Hell, never even considered it a possibility."  
  
"Potty word," Cooper announces, and Laura laughs.  
  
"Well, you're the best fucking aunt they could ever ask for." Cooper glares at his mother's language, but she ignores him, reaching to grasp Natasha's hand. She squeezes tightly. "Schastlivogo rozhdestva."  
  
"Merry Christmas," Natasha returns, the smile natural this time.  
  
Clint returns early Christmas morning, because he may be married to the job but he's also married to Laura and has fucking priorities. He takes one look at his wife and their friend, asleep together on the couch, and grunts. Natasha opens one eye and smirks. "Don't get any ideas," she mumbles.  
  
"Too late." He scratches his messy hair. "I need coffee."  
  
***  
  
Laura's pissed, standing with her arms crossed and hip cocked. "What the actual fuck?"  
  
Okay, _yeah_ , Natasha and Clint were out of contact for a while. And they look like they've been to hell and back. Because _they have_.  
  
"Aliens," Natasha says.  
  
Clint adds, "Mind control."  
  
"I gave him a concussion."  
  
"For which I'm very grateful."  
  
"My pleasure."  
  
"Also," Clint clears his throat. "We might be superheroes now. Kinda."  
  
Laura looks back and forth between them. Natasha thinks that maybe if Laura just watched the news like a normal person, she'd get it. "We're sorry for making you worry," Natasha apologizes for both of them.  
  
"Oh, shut up." Laura pulls Clint into a tight hug, pulling back just enough to give him a kiss. "If you get yourself killed I will bring you back and kill you again myself."  
  
Clint grins. "No doubt, baby."  
  
"That goes for you, too," Laura says, transferring her hug energy to Natasha. To her surprise, Laura plants a kiss on her lips, too. "Superheroes, huh? I miss all the excitement these days."  
  
Natasha touches her lips, flinching at the smell of soot and gunpowder that may never come off. Clint's watching her. Cautiously, maybe? Then he grips her neck and pulls her tight, like he just now realizes the ramifications of the shitstorm today. He could have lost everything. They all could have. "Tasha," he says, voice muffled in her hair.  
  
"I know. You're okay," she whispers into his shoulder. "We're all okay."  
  
***  
  
Absence makes the heart grow fonder and all that shit, but Natasha probably spends more quality time with Clint and the Barton gang after they're split to different SHIELD teams than when they were partners.  
  
She has a new partner, Steve Rogers - or annoyingly, _Captain America_ \- and secretly loves the hell out of him. When she picks at Clint, he either ignores her or just turns his hearing aids off. But Steve...Steve is a sassy little shit who is simultaneously a precious child. So much fun.  
  
"What about Becky in Logistics?" Natasha asks him one day. It's a very important job, trying to get the world's oldest virgin laid.  
  
Steve rebuts, "What about Bill from our STRIKE team?"  
  
"Didn't know you preferred Bills to Beckies, I've been going at this all wrong."  
  
"For you," Steve snaps. He blushes. Adorable. "Is that - are we not playing a setup game here?"  
  
Natasha frowns. "I'm exempt from the setup game."  
  
Steve nods. "Taken?"  
  
"Not looking," she answers quickly.  
  
And bless his heart, he drops it.  
  
***  
  
"What if we have another one?" Laura asks, without explanation. She's lying correctly in bed, while Natasha and Clint are sprawled out with their heads at her feet.  
  
"Another pizza?" Clint asks, then burps. Natasha giggles, highly uncharacteristic for her, but the kids are asleep and the weed is good.  
  
Laura rolls her eyes, sitting up to snatch the last slice from the box. "Another baby."  
  
"Well then we'll definitely need another pizza," Natasha says. It's obvious, more mouths to feed. "Though I might be agreeable to another baby if - _if_ \- you name it after me."  
  
"Which alias?" Clint and Laura ask in unison. Jerks.  
  
***  
  
When they discover Hydra's infiltration of SHIELD, Steve doesn't ask for Clint's help and Natasha doesn't offer it.  
  
Natasha also doesn't warn Clint when she realizes they're about to take down SHIELD. Better to keep him - his family - safe from that shit.  
  
In hindsight, maybe she should have given him a heads up. She's not much for regrets, though, even after she shows up at their door to lie low for a while.  
  
The welcome isn't quite as warm as usual.  
  
***  
  
She's used to the world crumbling around her, literally and metaphorically. Her rock for years has been Clint, and then Clint and Laura, but those rocks are tumbling with the rest of the rubble. Steve is steady and reliable, and she finds herself venturing out to the house in the country less and less. And there's Sam, and Rhodey, and Tony. And Bruce. Shit, Bruce.  
  
Until they all seek asylum there, in that sweet secret farmhouse, and she comes face to face with how much of a fucking idiot she - hell, all of them - can be.  
  
"You're retiring?!" She yells at Clint, after Sokovia falls and the dust settles. The kids are getting ready for bed, and a very pregnant Laura steps into the doorway to check on the the disruption.  
  
Clint nods, his face curled into a surly smile. "And you're dating _Bruce_?"  
  
Natasha is spitting mad. When she says, "Who I do or don't see is not your business," she means...she doesn't know, really. He doesn't own her? She isn't theirs to claim, not when those kinds of words have never actually been spoken in this house.  
  
"Nat," Laura says, but Clint stops her.  
  
"And my career is none of yours," he bites back. He's hurt, he's tired, and he's just done, apparently. With everything.  
  
They send her a picture of Nathaniel after he's born. He has chubby cheeks like she does, and maybe just a hint of red hair. It's a peace offering that she chooses not to take.  
  
***

How the fuck did she get here?  
  
Not behind bars. Honestly, she's shocked it took this long. The surprise is that she never anticipated ending up in a Wakandan jail. But how else can she guarantee to catch the attention of a certain newly appointed king, who happens to be royally pissed at her at the moment?  
  
T'Challa doesn't greet her with the usual "Miss Romanoff," which is fine, because formalities are overrated considering she let herself get caught sneaking into his country. Just another thing to add to her growing list of offenses.  
  
"I need to see Steve," she demands.  
  
T'Challa frowns. "What makes you think he is here?"  
  
"I don't think. I _know_ ," Natasha bristles. "And I know where his friends are being held and how to get to them out. Can't help if I'm stuck in here, though."  
  
"Hmm." The King of Wakanda stands, hands clasped, observing her quietly. For an obscenely long period of time.  
  
"Get lost in my eyes?" She teases.  
  
"No no." T'Challa chuckles. "Simply analyzing your words for any...loopholes. Fool me once, shame on you. You know the rest, I'm sure."  
  
Natasha leans against the wall of her cell, holding her arms at her sides in the most unthreatening way she can manage. "I won't give you my word. Ask almost anyone, they'll tell you my word is shit. There's two people that won't. One is in The Raft, buried deep in the Atlantic Ocean, and the other is the only person who can help me break in there. I'm giving _them_ my word, I won't betray you again."  
  
And that's how she ends up breaking into an underwater Super-Max prison with one extremely depressed Steve Rogers.  
  
***  
  
Natasha thinks back to what it was like. _Before_.  
  
No identity. No home, no family, nothing but a mission. And now, now she doesn't even have that.  
  
The warm weather is okay, she figures, but there's nothing particularly unpleasant about winter in New York, or Washington, or goddamn Iowa. That's where the new Barton Homestead is, or so she hears. Only Clint will be privy to its actual location. It's where his family belongs, and, well. As much as she once felt a part of it, it's apparent that she's not.  
  
She hears sneaky footsteps approaching her perch, like clockwork. Maybe after all these years, the connection is still there. "Took you long enough."  
  
Clint sits beside her, face bruised and knuckles scabbed, but says nothing. His nondescript hearing aids are missing, she notices, most likely lost or damaged in the scuffle. She nudges him and signs, "I'm sorry."  
  
"I can read lips," he signs back.  
  
"You're an asshole," she says.  
  
"I know," he signs. "I fucked up."  
  
Natasha mutters, "Yeah, me too," and shoves him when he nods emphatically. He grabs her wrist, yanking her into a bone-crushing hug, and then she's crying. She hates crying, even though it serves as a reminder that _yes, Natasha, you are human_.  
  
"Come home," he says, not softly at all, into her hair.  
  
"I don't have a home," she mumbles into his chest, then groans. "No home," she signs.  
  
Clint cups her face in his hands, sloppily wiping a tear as he angles to look into her eyes. His intimidation technique still sucks, but he wins the stare-down this time. "Come. Home."  
  
"What the hell?" She shrugs, laughing wetly. You can have numerous identities, but you really only _live_ once. "Sure, okay. I’ll come home."


End file.
